For the Women Who Are Hiding (And Why That Makes Sense)
There are women who don’t comment.
They don’t reach out.
They don’t introduce themselves.
They don’t reach out.
They don’t introduce themselves.
They read quietly.
They watch from a distance.
They take their time.
They watch from a distance.
They take their time.
And in many faith spaces, they’re misunderstood.
They’re labeled resistant, unhealed, uncommitted, or afraid.
But that’s not what I’ve seen.
Why hiding isn’t weakness
Women don’t hide for no reason.
They hide because something once told them:
- their questions were dangerous
- their boundaries were disobedient
- their discernment was mistrust
- their hesitation was a lack of faith
So they learned to stay quiet.
To observe.
To measure safety before engaging.
To keep parts of themselves protected.
To measure safety before engaging.
To keep parts of themselves protected.
That’s not immaturity.
That’s survival.
When trust is broken slowly
The hardest part of spiritual harm is that it often happens gradually.
No single moment feels severe enough to leave.
No one event feels dramatic enough to explain.
No one event feels dramatic enough to explain.
It’s a slow erosion of:
- confidence
- clarity
- self-trust
By the time you realize something is wrong, you’re already unsure how to name it.
So you withdraw.
Not because you don’t want help —
but because you don’t know who is safe.
but because you don’t know who is safe.
Why I recognize this posture
I was a woman who hid.
Not visibly.
Not dramatically.
Not dramatically.
But internally.
I stayed involved long after my body and mind were signaling caution.
I kept showing up while quietly shrinking.
I kept showing up while quietly shrinking.
And when I finally stepped away, I didn’t rush toward new spaces.
I watched.
I listened.
I learned to trust slowly again.
That’s why I don’t rush women now.
Safety before speech
In healthy spaces, women are not pressured to share.
They’re allowed to:
- listen
- think
- wait
- decide
Speech follows safety — not the other way around.
When women are rushed into vulnerability, it recreates the same dynamics that harmed them in the first place.
I don’t want to replicate that.
Who this work is for
This work is for women who:
- know something happened but don’t have language yet
- feel guarded without knowing why
- are tired of intensity masquerading as depth
- want help without pressure
It’s for the women who sit in the back.
Who read but don’t comment.
Who listen longer than they speak.
Who read but don’t comment.
Who listen longer than they speak.
I trust that posture.
Why I don’t chase engagement
Silence doesn’t mean absence.
Some of the most meaningful work happens:
- in private conversations
- over time
- after trust is established
The women I work with often say the same thing:
“I’ve been watching for a long time.”
That tells me everything I need to know.
Healing doesn’t announce itself
Healing doesn’t rush forward with confidence.
It often arrives quietly.
Tentatively.
With caution.
Tentatively.
With caution.
And that’s okay.
If you’re hiding right now — reading, watching, waiting — there is nothing wrong with you.
You don’t owe anyone your story yet.
You don’t owe anyone access.
You don’t need to perform readiness.
You don’t owe anyone access.
You don’t need to perform readiness.
Safety comes first.
And when you’re ready, you’ll know.
Why I Stopped Women’s Groups and Retreats (And Why That Was Wisdom)
There’s a quiet assumption in ministry and women’s work that if something is good, it should always keep going.
If it’s helping people, you shouldn’t stop.
If it’s growing, you shouldn’t question it.
If women are coming, you shouldn’t slow down.
If it’s growing, you shouldn’t question it.
If women are coming, you shouldn’t slow down.
I believed that for a long time.
And it nearly cost me everything.
When good things become unsafe
Women’s groups and retreats are not automatically healthy just because they’re spiritual.
Without structure, clarity, and discernment, they can quickly become places where:
- emotional intensity replaces wisdom
- vulnerability outpaces safety
- leaders absorb what they’re not equipped to carry
I didn’t understand that at first.
I was sincere.
I cared deeply.
I wanted to create space for women to heal.
I cared deeply.
I wanted to create space for women to heal.
But care without containment always breaks down.
Why I stepped back
There came a point where continuing groups and retreats would have been irresponsible.
Not because women didn’t need support —
but because I was still healing, still learning, still rebuilding my own discernment after charismatic and Word of Faith harm.
but because I was still healing, still learning, still rebuilding my own discernment after charismatic and Word of Faith harm.
Leading women before you’re safe yourself doesn’t make you strong.
It makes you dangerous — even with good intentions.
It makes you dangerous — even with good intentions.
So I stopped.
I stopped women’s groups.
I stopped retreats.
I disappointed people.
I questioned myself constantly.
I stopped retreats.
I disappointed people.
I questioned myself constantly.
And it was the wisest decision I could have made.
The cost of being accessible to everyone
One of the hardest lessons I’ve learned is that accessibility is not the same as faithfulness.
When everything is open:
- boundaries erode
- expectations multiply
- responsibility becomes unclear
Some women want healing.
Some want intensity.
Some want leadership.
Some want to stay in chaos — and will look for leaders who allow it.
Some want intensity.
Some want leadership.
Some want to stay in chaos — and will look for leaders who allow it.
I had to learn that I cannot serve all of those needs at once.
And I shouldn’t try.
Why stopping wasn’t failure
Stopping wasn’t quitting.
It was choosing integrity over momentum.
It was choosing clarity over pressure.
Safety over visibility.
Depth over demand.
Safety over visibility.
Depth over demand.
I didn’t shut things down because I lost vision.
I shut them down because I gained discernment.
I shut them down because I gained discernment.
That distinction matters.
What changed when I slowed down
Stepping back gave me space to:
- rebuild trust in myself
- learn business and structure
- separate faith from urgency
- understand what women actually need — not just what they ask for
It also showed me something uncomfortable:
Not everyone who wants access to you is meant to have it.
And not every opportunity is aligned just because it’s spiritual.
What Life Anchor is now
Life Anchor is no longer built around constant programming.
It’s built around:
- safety
- structure
- clarity
- real care
That’s why some things look quieter now.
My husband is building out the salt room.
I’m preparing retreats carefully, not frequently.
I still meet with my clients — but with clearer boundaries and expectations.
I’m preparing retreats carefully, not frequently.
I still meet with my clients — but with clearer boundaries and expectations.
This work is slower.
But it’s safer.
But it’s safer.
Who this work is for
This work is not for women who want intensity without responsibility.
It’s for women who:
- were hurt in spiritual spaces
- feel confused but don’t have language yet
- are tired of being emotionally managed
- want help without being pressured
The ones who are watching quietly.
The ones who don’t need hype.
The ones who value steadiness over spectacle.
The ones who don’t need hype.
The ones who value steadiness over spectacle.
Wisdom looks like restraint
We don’t talk enough about restraint in faith spaces.
About knowing when to pause.
When to stop.
When to say “not right now.”
When to stop.
When to say “not right now.”
But restraint is often where healing actually begins.
Stopping groups and retreats wasn’t the end of the work.
It was the beginning of doing it well.
Why I Stopped Women’s Groups and Retreats (And Why That Was Wisdom)
There’s a quiet assumption in ministry and women’s work that if something is good, it should always keep going.
If it’s helping people, you shouldn’t stop.
If it’s growing, you shouldn’t question it.
If women are coming, you shouldn’t slow down.
If it’s growing, you shouldn’t question it.
If women are coming, you shouldn’t slow down.
I believed that for a long time.
And it nearly cost me everything.
When good things become unsafe
Women’s groups and retreats are not automatically healthy just because they’re spiritual.
Without structure, clarity, and discernment, they can quickly become places where:
- emotional intensity replaces wisdom
- vulnerability outpaces safety
- leaders absorb what they’re not equipped to carry
I didn’t understand that at first.
I was sincere.
I cared deeply.
I wanted to create space for women to heal.
I cared deeply.
I wanted to create space for women to heal.
But care without containment always breaks down.
Why I stepped back
There came a point where continuing groups and retreats would have been irresponsible.
Not because women didn’t need support —
but because I was still healing, still learning, still rebuilding my own discernment after charismatic and Word of Faith harm.
but because I was still healing, still learning, still rebuilding my own discernment after charismatic and Word of Faith harm.
Leading women before you’re safe yourself doesn’t make you strong.
It makes you dangerous — even with good intentions.
It makes you dangerous — even with good intentions.
So I stopped.
I stopped women’s groups.
I stopped retreats.
I disappointed people.
I questioned myself constantly.
I stopped retreats.
I disappointed people.
I questioned myself constantly.
And it was the wisest decision I could have made.
The cost of being accessible to everyone
One of the hardest lessons I’ve learned is that accessibility is not the same as faithfulness.
When everything is open:
- boundaries erode
- expectations multiply
- responsibility becomes unclear
Some women want healing.
Some want intensity.
Some want leadership.
Some want to stay in chaos — and will look for leaders who allow it.
Some want intensity.
Some want leadership.
Some want to stay in chaos — and will look for leaders who allow it.
I had to learn that I cannot serve all of those needs at once.
And I shouldn’t try.
Why stopping wasn’t failure
Stopping wasn’t quitting.
It was choosing integrity over momentum.
It was choosing clarity over pressure.
Safety over visibility.
Depth over demand.
Safety over visibility.
Depth over demand.
I didn’t shut things down because I lost vision.
I shut them down because I gained discernment.
I shut them down because I gained discernment.
That distinction matters.
What changed when I slowed down
Stepping back gave me space to:
- rebuild trust in myself
- learn business and structure
- separate faith from urgency
- understand what women actually need — not just what they ask for
It also showed me something uncomfortable:
Not everyone who wants access to you is meant to have it.
And not every opportunity is aligned just because it’s spiritual.
What Life Anchor is now
Life Anchor is no longer built around constant programming.
It’s built around:
- safety
- structure
- clarity
- real care
That’s why some things look quieter now.
My husband is building out the salt room.
I’m preparing retreats carefully, not frequently.
I still meet with my clients — but with clearer boundaries and expectations.
I’m preparing retreats carefully, not frequently.
I still meet with my clients — but with clearer boundaries and expectations.
This work is slower.
But it’s safer.
But it’s safer.
Who this work is for
This work is not for women who want intensity without responsibility.
It’s for women who:
- were hurt in spiritual spaces
- feel confused but don’t have language yet
- are tired of being emotionally managed
- want help without being pressured
The ones who are watching quietly.
The ones who don’t need hype.
The ones who value steadiness over spectacle.
The ones who don’t need hype.
The ones who value steadiness over spectacle.
Wisdom looks like restraint
We don’t talk enough about restraint in faith spaces.
About knowing when to pause.
When to stop.
When to say “not right now.”
When to stop.
When to say “not right now.”
But restraint is often where healing actually begins.
Stopping groups and retreats wasn’t the end of the work.
It was the beginning of doing it well.
Why I Had to Learn Business After Ministry
No one tells you this when you’re raised in spiritual environments:
You can love God deeply
and still have no idea how to build something sustainably.
and still have no idea how to build something sustainably.
I didn’t leave ministry and suddenly become “worldly.”
I left a system where spiritual language replaced practical skill.
I left a system where spiritual language replaced practical skill.
And that confusion followed me longer than I expected.
When calling replaces competence
In many Word of Faith and charismatic spaces, passion is treated as preparation.
If you’re sincere enough, bold enough, anointed enough — everything else is supposed to fall into place.
But sincerity doesn’t teach you:
- how to price your work
- how to create structure
- how to set boundaries
- how to build something that doesn’t depend on constant emotional output
So when you step into the real work of building — a center, a business, a space for women — you feel behind before you even start.
Not because you lack wisdom.
But because you were never taught how things actually function.
But because you were never taught how things actually function.
The disorientation after leaving
Coming out of charismatic culture and into business is deeply disorienting.
You realize how much of what you were taught was spiritualized survival:
- “God will provide” used instead of planning
- “Trust the process” used instead of accountability
- “Obedience” used instead of clarity
And when those phrases stop working, you’re left standing there thinking:
Why does everyone else seem to know how to do this?
That feeling of being “behind” is not failure.
It’s exposure.
It’s exposure.
Exposure to the gap between spiritual enthusiasm and real-world skill.
Why Life Anchor felt harder than it should have
Life Anchor didn’t fail because it lacked vision.
It struggled because vision alone is not enough.
I had to learn — slowly and sometimes painfully — that integrity requires structure.
That care requires systems.
That sustainability requires skills no one prayed over me to receive.
That care requires systems.
That sustainability requires skills no one prayed over me to receive.
There were seasons I stopped women’s groups.
Stopped retreats.
Stepped back completely.
Stopped retreats.
Stepped back completely.
Not because I didn’t believe in the work — but because continuing without learning how to steward it would have been irresponsible.
That was a hard truth to accept.
Learning business without losing yourself
One of my fears was that learning business would make me cold, corporate, or disconnected.
What I found instead was the opposite.
Learning business:
- protected my energy
- clarified my boundaries
- reduced spiritual pressure
- made the work safer for women
Business done with integrity doesn’t replace faith.
It removes chaos.
It removes chaos.
And for women coming out of spiritual manipulation, less chaos is healing.
Why I’m not rushing anymore
I’m still learning.
I still meet with my clients.
I’m still building Life Anchor.
My husband is still working on the salt room.
I’m still preparing retreats.
I’m still building Life Anchor.
My husband is still working on the salt room.
I’m still preparing retreats.
But I’m no longer pretending I already know everything.
I’m not interested in growth that outpaces maturity.
I’m not interested in language that sounds spiritual but avoids responsibility.
And I’m not interested in repeating systems that harmed people — including myself.
I’m not interested in language that sounds spiritual but avoids responsibility.
And I’m not interested in repeating systems that harmed people — including myself.
Who this matters for
This matters for women who:
- were taught faith but not function
- were praised for passion but not trained for sustainability
- are trying to build something real after leaving spiritual chaos
If you feel late, behind, or awkward learning things others seem to “just know,”
there’s nothing wrong with you.
there’s nothing wrong with you.
You’re not starting from zero.
You’re starting from truth.
You’re starting from truth.
And that takes longer — but it lasts.
Some women leave certain faith spaces and can’t explain why.
They don’t have a dramatic story ready.
They’re not trying to tear anything down.
They’re not deconstructing for attention.
They’re not trying to tear anything down.
They’re not deconstructing for attention.
They just know something wasn’t right — and they don’t yet have language for it.
I was one of them.
When the harm isn’t obvious
The most confusing kind of spiritual harm isn’t loud.
It’s subtle.
It happens over time.
It’s subtle.
It happens over time.
It’s when spiritual language replaces discernment.
When intensity is mistaken for depth.
When obedience is praised but clarity is discouraged.
When intensity is mistaken for depth.
When obedience is praised but clarity is discouraged.
You’re told to trust God — but you’re also taught not to trust yourself.
You’re encouraged to surrender — but only in ways that benefit the system you’re in.
You’re encouraged to surrender — but only in ways that benefit the system you’re in.
And when you finally step away, you don’t feel free right away.
You feel disoriented.
Losing your words
Leaving charismatic or Word of Faith environments often means losing your vocabulary.
You don’t know how to talk about what happened without sounding:
- bitter
- faithless
- confused
- or dramatic
So you stay quiet.
You tell yourself it wasn’t “that bad.”
You minimize your own experience.
You keep going, even though something in you is still unsettled.
You minimize your own experience.
You keep going, even though something in you is still unsettled.
That quiet confusion is not weakness.
It’s a sign your discernment is waking back up.
It’s a sign your discernment is waking back up.
Why I stopped certain things
There were seasons when I stopped women’s groups.
I stopped retreats.
I stepped back more than people realized.
I stopped retreats.
I stepped back more than people realized.
Not because the work didn’t matter — but because I needed to become safe again.
Safe in my own body.
Safe in my thinking.
Safe in my faith.
Safe in my thinking.
Safe in my faith.
Spiritual leadership without safety will always cost more than it gives.
And sometimes wisdom looks like closing doors, not opening new ones.
The unseen cost of spiritualized leadership
One of the hardest things to name is how often ideas are copied instead of formed.
How quickly people adopt titles, roles, and callings without the internal work to support them.
When leadership is driven by spiritual language instead of maturity, it creates noise — not depth.
I had to learn, slowly, that what I was building couldn’t be rushed or replicated.
It had to come from lived cost, not borrowed language.
It had to come from lived cost, not borrowed language.
That understanding changed everything.
Who this work is for now
I still meet with my clients.
The work hasn’t stopped.
The work hasn’t stopped.
But I’m clearer now about who this work is for.
It’s not for women who want to stay in chaos.
It’s for women who are hurt and can’t yet explain why.
For the ones who are guarded, cautious, and watching quietly.
For the women who know something happened — but don’t have words yet.
It’s for women who are hurt and can’t yet explain why.
For the ones who are guarded, cautious, and watching quietly.
For the women who know something happened — but don’t have words yet.
I was one of them.
And I know how long it can take to feel safe enough to speak.
Quiet rebuilding
Life Anchor didn’t come out of a polished vision.
It came out of a dangerous place.
It came out of a dangerous place.
And rebuilding after that kind of harm doesn’t look impressive.
It looks slow.
It looks careful.
It looks like learning business after ministry.
It looks like integrity over growth.
It looks careful.
It looks like learning business after ministry.
It looks like integrity over growth.
Much of the work happens behind closed doors — conversations, trust, unlearning.
Very few people see it.
But it matters.
If this is you
If you’re reading this and thinking, “I don’t know how to explain what happened to me,”
there’s nothing wrong with you.
there’s nothing wrong with you.
You don’t need a label yet.
You don’t need a conclusion.
You don’t need to rush your healing.
You don’t need a conclusion.
You don’t need to rush your healing.
Some clarity only comes after safety.
And if you’re here quietly, still watching, still unsure — that makes sense.
You’re not late.
You’re not broken.
You’re becoming honest.
You’re not broken.
You’re becoming honest.
